Defeat
by littlegirlgonemad
Summary: In the end, I had to accept defeat...


**Defeat**

In the end, I had to accept defeat.

I had fought against admitting to my feelings for him for years.

I had yelled at him, hit him, hexed him, ignored him, hurt him.

And then came seventh year.

We were Head Boy and Head Girl so we had to share a dorm, do our homework together, study for our N.E. together, patrol the corridors together.

This was, in the beginning, an ominous thought.

It meant that I would have to spend time with him, converse with him, be cordial towards him and not curse him within an inch of his life.

But as I spent more time with him, as I got to know him, things began to change.

He laughed at my clumsiness, sweetly, not mocking.

He learnt that I missed my old best friend and how I wished that the fight in fifth year hadn't torn him away from me.

He discovered that I missed having my sister as my friend and confidante.

And then, gradually, things began to change.

All the feelings that I had supressed over the years bubbled to the surface, slowly.

My vision began to clear.

I began to see him for who he was.

A handsome, mature, responsible, funny, adorable, trustworthy, fun-loving, caring, sensitive young man.

And then I realised that my life would be empty without him.

Then began my battle against admitting my feelings to _him._

But he picked up on the subtle changes in my attitude towards him.

The previously unseen blushes, the previously unheard of soft giggles, the previously unthinkable incoherent speech; he noticed all of that.

And he realised what I was hiding.

He began plotting my downfall!

He would look at me long and hard, with those hazel eyes, as if reading my very soul.

He would flash that dazzling smile at me, and something about it was different, like it was just for me.

He would come up behind me while I studied, and whisper my name in my ear, like it was the most potent and precious word in the world.

And I would be left blushing, darker than I had ever blushed before; giggling, like the girl I had promised myself I wouldn't ever become; stuttering like a fool.

He would chuckle, joyously, as though he knew of power he had over me.

I had lost all my self-control; I spent all my waking hours with him, talking, laughing.

My sleep was plagued by dreams of those hazel eyes and that messy, windswept black hair and that gorgeous smile.

This happy, yet confusing time was not to last long.

The winds of change blew in our direction.

Yet again.

He became slightly distant, spending more time on the Quidditch Pitch.

He wouldn't talk to me as much as before.

Then came the Yule Ball, and he didn't even seem to want to ask me, he tried to set me up with Amos Diggory.

I was hurt, sad that I thought he didn't care about me anymore, upset that he thought of me only as a friend.

I was disgusted at myself, because all the years that he had cared for me, I had spurned him.

And now, when I _did _care for him, more than was healthy, he didn't want anything to do with me romantically.

I wished I could have skipped that Ball, but as Head Girl, that wasn't even an option.

I had to go and appear happy, nostalgic, mature, beautiful and responsible.

I was anything but.

I was sad, I wished I could escape the Ball and go cry in peace, I felt like a silly thirteen year old crying over a crush, I felt like a mess.

But I felt responsible for my pain.

If only I had welcomed him into my life when I had had the chance, if only I had opened my eyes earlier.

And then came the biggest blow.

He was there with some long-legged, pouty lipped, doe eyed, blonde Prefect.

And he looked at her, the way he used to look at _me_.

He smiled at her, that smile usually reserved for _me_.

I saw him, whisper her name to her, and dazzle her, the way he used to dazzle _me_.

But something was missing.

I felt there was an undertone of distraction, inattentiveness, in the deep hazel pools that were his eyes.

She coloured prettily, not the violent, carrot red that stained my cheeks, but a pretty rose tint.

She laughed flirtatiously, not my flustered, high-pitched giggle.

I saw her, whisper back, showing all the articulation that I lacked when it came to him.

I had to accept defeat.

I knew that I had lost, this girl was everything that I was not.

A conventional beauty _and_ she was smart, she was a flirt, she let him know exactly what she felt about him.

Yet, she wasn't throwing herself at him; she had grace, elegance, poise.

The traditional Heads dance arrived, and I had to dance with him.

He walked over to where I was, and held out a hand, and waited.

I didn't want to be anywhere near him, I feared I would cry.

But I couldn't create a scene, not during my last Christmas at Hogwarts.

So I let him lead me onto the dance floor.

He held me close, yet at a polite distance, as if to further emphasise that he didn't want me.

I didn't want to cry, but somewhere, sometime as he spun me around, his fingers began to frantically rub a warm, salty liquid off my face.

I was yet again defeated by my uncontrollable emotions.

He seemed bewildered, shocked, hurt that I was crying.

But he told me to stop, that he hated it when I cried.

Why would he hate it if I cried?

Didn't he like seeing me in pain?

Wasn't that why he hadn't asked me to the Ball when he clearly knew how much I liked him?

Or was it because he just didn't care about me _that_ way anymore?

He just stared at me, as though I had grown a pair of horns and blood-soaked fangs.

He tried to speak, but no words left his mouth.

So he did the next best thing.

He kissed me.

No fireworks, no bright lights, no song playing in my head.

Just warmth, reassurance, _him_, me, _us_.

I pulled away, not comprehending.

A question clear in my wide eyes.

He just looked at me, sending a shiver down my spine.

He smiled at me, _my_ smile.

And he whispered my name, hoarsely, but it was the most beautiful thing I had heard.

He said that she was a distant cousin.

He didn't know how to tell me what he felt.

Because what he felt for me was stronger than anything he had felt before.

He couldn't work up the courage to ask me, he didn't want to jeopardise our growing closeness, our budding friendship by asking me to the Ball.

So in the end, he had decided jealousy would be ideal.

And it worked.

And yet again I had to face _and_ accept defeat.

My heart was won, my resolve never to love him, shattered, my vow never to tell him, broken.

But I didn't mind.

Because when you're faced with true love, you have to accept defeat…

~littlegirlgonemad~

**Author's Note: I like how it began, but then it trailed off weakly. Tell me how I should improve.**

**Please ****REVIEW****!**


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